I pull into the alley, parking in one of two spaces behind the store before heading toward the front, half expecting to find the door locked, figuring Jude couldn’t resist the call of killer waves on such a beautiful day, and surprised to find it wide open, with Jude behind the register, ringing a sale.

“Oh hey, here’s Avalon now.” He nods. “I was just telling Susan about our new psychic reader, and you walk in on cue.”

Susan turns, looking me over, scrutinizing, accessing, adding up all the parts in her head. Sure she’s aced the equation when she says, “Aren’t you a little—young to be giving readings?” She gives me a smug look.

I smile, an awkward slanting of lips, as my gaze darts between them, unsure how to respond, especially with the way Jude’s looking at me.

“Being psychic is a gift,” I mumble, nearly choking on the word. Remembering a time, not long ago, when I scoffed at the thought, sure it was anything but. “It’s got nothing to do with age,” I add, watching her aura flicker and flare, knowing I’ve failed to convince her. “You either have it, or you don’t.” I shrug, digging myself a very deep hole.

“So, should I book you a reading?” Jude asks, smiling in a way that’s hard to resist.

But not for Susan. Shaking her head and clutching her bag, she heads for the door, saying, “You just give me a call when Ava comes back.”

The bell clangs loudly as the door closes behind her. “Well, that went well.” I shrug, turning toward Jude and watching him file the receipt before adding, “Is my age going to be a problem here?”

“You sixteen?” he asks, barely glancing at me.

I press my lips together and nod.

“Then you’re old enough to work here. Susan’s a psychic junkie, she won’t resist for long. She’ll be on your sign-up sheet before you know it.”

“Psychic junkie? Is that anything like a groupie?” I follow him to the office in back, noticing he’s wearing the exact same trunks and peace-sign tee as before.

“Can’t make a move without consulting the cards, the stars, what have you.” He nods. “Though I’m guessing you gathered your share of regulars in the course of all the readings you’ve given.” He glances over his shoulder as he opens the door, eyes narrowed, knowing, in a way I can’t miss.

“About that—” I start, figuring I may as well confess since he’s obviously on to me anyway.

But he just turns, hand raised, determined to stop me when he says, “Please, no confessionals.” Smiling and shaking his head. “If I have any hope of enjoying those huge swells out there, then I don’t have the luxury of regretting my decision. Though you might want to rethink that bit about it being a gift.”

I look at him, surprised to hear him say that since all the psychics I’ve met, which, okay, pretty much consists of just Ava, but still, most of them think it’s most certainly something you’re born with.

“I’m thinking of adding some classes to the schedule, psychic development stuff, maybe even throw in some Wicca as well, and trust me, we’ll get a lot more sign-ups if everyone thinks they have a fair shot.”

“But do they?” I ask, watching as he heads for an extremely messy desk and riffles through a pile of papers near the edge.

“Sure.” He nods, picking up a sheet, looking it over, then shaking his head as he swaps it for another. “Everyone has the potential, it’s just a matter of developing it. With some it comes easy, they couldn’t ignore it if they tried, with others—they have to dig a little deeper to find it. And you? When did you know?”

He looks at me, those sea green eyes meeting mine in a way that makes my stomach dance. I mean, one minute he’s talking abstractedly, thumbing through papers as though he’s barely minding his words, then the next everything stops, his gaze is on mine, and it’s like time has stood still.

I swallow hard, unsure what to say, part of me longing to confess, knowing he’s one of the few who would understand, but the other part resists—Damen’s the only one who knows my story, and I feel like I should keep it that way.

“Just born with it, I guess.” I lift my shoulders, cringing at the way my voice rose at the end. My eyes dart around the room, hoping to avoid the topic as well as his gaze when I add, “So—classes. Who’s teaching those?”

He shrugs, tilting his head in a way that allows his dread-locks to fall into his face. “Guess I will,” he says, pushing them back and revealing the scar on his brow. “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while anyway, but Lina’s always been against it. I figure I may as well take advantage of her not being here to see if it works.”

“Why’s she against it?” I ask, stomach settling when he leans back and props his feet on his desk.

“She likes to keep it simple—books, music, angel figurines, with the occasional reading thrown in. Safe. Benign. Mainstream mysticism where no one gets hurt.”

“And your way? People get hurt?” I study him, trying to pinpoint just what it is about him that sets me on edge.

“Not at all. My goal is to empower people, help them live better, more fulfilled lives, by accessing their own intuition, that’s all.” He glances at me, green eyes catching me staring, making my stomach go weird again.

“And Lina doesn’t want to empower people?” I ask, feeling all fluttery under his gaze.